'Til Hill and Valley are RingingA TV journalist protecting the environment, Kevin
Costner's fly-fishing guide, and a dairy farmer dedicated to soil conservation--three
Wabash men find new ways of "living off the land" and preserving
it as well.

f the politicization of the
environment has had a negative impact, it's that opposing sides have been
reduced to stereotypes--the tree-huggers versus the ruthless clear-cutters.
But in an era in which too much is said and too little is done, three Wabash
men have a vested interest in the well-being of the earth. Not only do they
benefit from it; they give back to it as well. And their common thread is
not a thread at all, but a clear, sturdy fishing line, with a neatly tied
fly at the end.

Just the Facts

When Paul Day '70 drew a low lottery number and entered the
selective service after graduating from Wabash, he had obvious concerns.
Would he be shipped overseas, possibly seeing combat in Vietnam? Even if
he could avoid the catastrophe of war, how long would he have to wait to
get on with his life and start a career?

As chance dictated, he didn't need to worry. Paul spent
his tour in the frigid streets of Iceland instead of the steaming jungles
of southeast Asia. After being trained in the Navy Reserves' broadcast journalism
school in Indianapolis, he was sent to Keflavik, a small town near Iceland's
capital of Reykjavik, where his job was to broadcast news to American troops--in
civilian clothes. It was about as un-military a job as the military offered,
and it helped launch a career in broadcast journalism that is now over 25
years old.

After leaving the service, Day took a job at a Boise, Idaho
television station, where he anchored on the weekends and reported during
the week. After four years in Boise, Paul moved to Colorado, where he lives
today with his wife Angelika and their two sons. In 1988, Paul was named
environmental reporter for KCNC, now the CBS affiliate in Denver. Local
and regional environmental issues have been his primary beat for almost
10 years.

As a professional journalist, Day is serious about his
obligation to impartiality about the stories he covers.

"Colorado, by definition, is very outdoor-oriented,"
Day explains. "They care about endangered species, they care about
wilderness protection, they care about land use issues--growth issues."

These issues include a recent investigation by Day into
creek contamination by the new Denver International Airport. The airport
takes measures to collect de-icing fluid that flows from planes as they
load and unload passengers. No one figured that as the planes taxi down
runway, however, additional fluid would wash off. The resulting runoff contaminated
a nearby creek that begins on the airport's property and flows toward a
wildlife sanctuary.

"Reporting on this story called into question the
management of the airport," Day notes, adding that ignoring such stories
would please people who would prefer that the issues be kept out of the
public eye. But pleasing such people isn't his job.

Day also keeps his eye on the government. On the northeast
corner of the Denver metro area lies the Rocky Mountain Arsenal, a 27-square-mile
facility that once produced nerve gas. Much of the soil has absorbed hazardous
chemicals, and the Army is engaged in a long-term cleanup operation of the
facility. Ironically, though, much of the Arsenal has not been contaminated
and is now a refuge for many species of wildlife, including whitetail deer,
mule deer, eagles, pelicans, hawks, and burrowing owls. That portion of
the facility has become a popular tourist attraction and has been taken
over in part by the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service.

In a region whose citizenry is centered in nature, it might
seem surprising that any avoidable concerns still exist. But common sense
is often blindsided by human nature.

"Here in Denver," Day says, "people tell
you over and over again in public opinion polls that they want clean air,
but they're all too willing to drive by themselves 40 miles in and back
to work. So what are they willing to sacrifice?" Denver is currently
experimenting with light-rail mass-transit systems. Urban planners, however,
should take note: "When you sit in on large groups of people, what
you hear is 'Light rail is good, as long as somebody else is forced to ride
it and I don't have to.'"

Day makes these observations fully prepared to "walk
the walk." In the winter, when Denver's air pollution is worst, he
rides the bus to work whenever possible. In the summer, he rides his bicycle
the 25-mile round trip to and from work at least three days a week.

Though at times critical of his audience, he also respects
their intelligence and convictions. He knows that some things take precedence
over the concerns raised by his stories. "From my perspective, environmental
concerns tend to get a fair shake in the overall consideration of other
priorities. People pay attention to them in terms of looking at them and
saying 'Is this really important?'" He adds that if the issue is not
as important as other priorities, such as jobs or family, then it's destined
to receive relatively little attention.

But once the camera's been shut off and the newscast is
put to bed, how does this expert wish he could spend more days? Nothing
too surprising. "I just wish we could figure out a way to build more
trout streams. I have a real passion for fly-fishing."

The Lure of Nature

If he's looking for fly fishing, Paul Day should head 650
miles northwest to Bozeman, Montana, a town of about 30,000 that lies 40
miles north of Yellowstone National Park. Robert Redford filmed A River
Runs Through It nearby. This is the land that Brian Grossenbacher '90,
calls home. Brian and his wife, Jenny, run Grossenbacher Guides, an outfitter
that provides, in addition to Rocky Mountain-area tours, "the total
fly-fishing experience"--lessons (if necessary), access to the proper
gear, and an experienced guide to navigate tourists and locals alike through
some of the finest and most scenic trout streams in the world.

Bozeman is one of several cities nestled in the eastern
foothills of the Rockies that stand guard over the western third of Montana,
an area almost entirely protected as national forest land, where streams
and rivers wind and run at the cranky discretion of the Continental Divide.
On almost every fishable day of the year, Brian rows the craggy Yellowstone
or Gallatin rivers in search of the spot where spawning trout will succumb
to the flitting of his newly tied flies. He's come a long way from the days
he fished the creeks around Crawfordsville with equipment manager Chick
Clements. Now the former Wabash baseball standout is paid to guide and instruct
the likes of Kevin Costner and other amateur outdoorsmen and their families
in search of peace in the outdoors and the "hope that a fish will rise."
In the off-season, he skis (40 days last year) and writes. His first book,
The Tying Flies Workstation, was published in March.

The Grossenbachers are part of a recent influx of people
to "discover" Montana. With the increasing population has come
increased awareness of environmental concerns. Mining and logging, for example,
are two traditional local operations that are both difficult to justify
ecologically yet nearly impossible to avoid culturally. But when a mountainside
is clear-cut--when every tree is either cut off at the stump or uprooted
by machinery--devastating events takes place. Brian frequentlyn sees the
consequences.

"Clear-cutting, especially at high elevations, presents
many problems, such as topsoil erosion. Spawning trout require heavily oxygenated
water flowing over a very fine gravel bed," Grossenbacher explains.
When the topsoil washes down the mountain and flows into the water, the
siltation literally chokes out the spawning beds."

Grossenbacher warns that clearing the land is also beginning
to dissect the natural migratory corridors for many land animals.

"Yellowstone Park is a perfect example," Grossenbacher
explains. "We've created kind of a 'genetic island' inside Yellowstone.
It used to be that Montana was so wide-open that we had a very strong migratory
corridor from Yellowstone all the way up to Glacier National Park."
With increased logging and development, he adds, "Yellowstone effectively
has been sealed off with very little buffer zone for the animals to expand
and to migrate in and out of the park. What we're going to see in future
generations is species that are specific to Yellowstone Park."

Grossenbacher is reluctant to single out individuals as
the problem. "People don't think, when they cut down a tree, 'what
other effects am I having?'" As a logger or a miner, he continues,
"you're putting food on the table. But somewhere down the line it affects
another creature somewhere else."

The problem, he says, is logging or mining--or doing anything--recklessly
and without regard for the potential consequences. "Our perception
of land is still strictly economic, entailing privileges but not obligations.
The idea, however, that in modern society we can co-exist without an impact
on the land is mythical and unrealistic. What we need to consider is that
with every building we erect, every parking lot we pave, every mountain
we clear cut, we are leaving our legacy on the land, and we must be prepared
to live with the ramifications."

When he chose his vocation, Grossenbacher became more than
just a fly-fisherman; he became a disciple.

"The land out here has so much to tell us, if we'd
only listen to it. As fishing guides, we're in a perfect position to educate
people who come out here and tell them." No one likes to be preached
to, he adds, but fortunately, preaching isn't necessary. "Getting people
to appreciate that beauty is not hard to do."

Zinn and the Art of Soil Maintenance

Getting people interested in the beauty of nature may not
be hard to do, but raising the public's awareness of another "endangered
species"--the American farmer--is more difficult. Few men know the
problems faced by America's dairy farmers better than John Zinn '74. Zinn,
his wife Marcel, and their four daughters live on a farm in Westby, Wisconsin,
a small town in the southwest part of the state where the streams produce
trout, the farms produce milk, and the Mississippi River opens up and starts
to mean business.

Traditionally, the Zinns have been dairy farmers. They've
been in the business for the last 16 years, and at their peak, they had
around 40 cows and shipped around 90,000 gallons of milk per year. For the
last couple of years, though, they've been scaling down their dairy work
and plan to sell their last dairy cow soon. Simple economics is the main
reason. In general, the profit potential per cow is dropping, so people
have to run more units to come out ahead. With a one- or two-person operation,
this is difficult. Modern milking technology has made it possible to process
enough cows, but it's a difficult lifestyle to maintain. The cows absolutely
must be milked twice a day, which makes it difficult to get away from home
for long periods of time. In addition, Zinn routinely worked 12 hours per
day with a full barn of cows, and in the spring, that number often jumped
to 18 or 20.

The decision to leave dairy farming would be easier if
he disliked it.

"I actually enjoy working with cows," Zinn explains.
"I enjoy trying to develop a good cow that will live a long time, give
a lot of milk and be relatively trouble free."

"It's really hard for me to explain," he laughs.
"I've been kicked up pretty bad by some cows." Like cat people
and dog people, though, some people are just cow people.

But don't worry about John Zinn having too much free time.
He still grows hay and corn on his 80-acre farm in a pattern that would
leave many Midwesterners scratching their heads. Called "contour strip
cropping," the technique entails alternating strips of corn and hay
parallel to the valleys. This slows down rainwater as it moves down the
slope and conserves the topsoil.

Soil conservation is another of John Zinn's many specialties.
He holds a master's degree in soil management from the University of Tennessee
and actually works full-time for the Vernon County Land Conservation Department,
where he administers the Farmland Preservation Program, a state-sponsored
tax credit program that encourages farmers to farm their land in a manner
that conserves the soil.

"It's a cooperative effort, which makes my job a lot
easier," Zinn says, noting that in many instances, the farmers have
invented the conservation methods. "Conservation has been, from the
beginning, a group effort. I probably work with some of the best conservation
farmers in the whole country."

Zinn also does stream restoration work in trout streams.
His area of Wisconsin has many good hardwater streams, and when the watershed
surrounding the streams is protected from soil erosion and runoff from farmsteads
and feedlots, the local streams provide great trout fishing. Some of the
conservation that he and other farmers have done is having a positive impact
on the trout streams. Where 20 years ago the streams had to be stocked,
some are now beginning to flourish via natural reproduction. Wisconsin is
wise enough to allocate some of the money from fishing licenses to do the
conservation work.

John Zinn probably could have entered a profession that
would pay him better or give him shorter days, but he has no regrets. In
fact, he's rather philosophical about the pay structure.

"Farmers will never get rich, because, whether it's
stated or not, the goal of the way we live is that there has to be cheap
food." He jokes that "I was always discouraged from getting into
farming because they told me there was no money in it. Now I know for sure."
But for him, working the earth has other benefits."It gives me a lot
of satisfaction to know that I've provided a lot of food for a lot of people."

In soil work, he conservatively surmises, "you feel
like you're making a contribution that is going to last, maybe beyond your
lifetime, and is going to benefit a lot of people. When you can save soil
and improve the habitat for a desirable species of fish and maybe improve
the overall quality of the environment, you think that maybe you're making
a valuable contribution."

John Zinn's valuable contributions are probably too numerous
to count.